The Damaged Trilogy: A Collection of Sestinas
by Our Broken Quill
Summary: The Sestina is a complex form of poetry relying on exquisite repetition to produce beautiful results. / Everyone is damaged, but that doesn't stop them from living. How you wish to look back on yourself is up to you. Past, present, future... (All poems have been updated)
1. Farewell: Lilly

Foretell the life of thyme this clock will turn,  
though this box preserve your good memory.  
All life will cease through time, thy mistress fly,  
tracing the flight of your crimson songbird.  
Though my ash returns to dust I cherish  
these errant thoughts of mind, too bittersweet.

I dream far, though quietly bittersweet,  
though I find regrets no matter my turn.  
That loss, picked of roses I cherish  
my bouquet of dirt and wan memory.  
I delight to hear notes of my songbird,  
though missing sight means I can't watch it fly.

My multicolored wings led me to fly,  
escaping true loss to be bittersweet.  
In thinking itself anew, a songbird  
has never felt so out of place and turn.  
And if I can sing, then my memory  
is leaving me with nothing to cherish.

This box and I left alone to cherish,  
though with notes this wood can learn to fly.  
Tis fair, though not, trapping your memory  
a guilty pleasure, though quite bittersweet.  
These gears inside this music box will turn,  
light long after the death of our songbird.

Though blind, I trace the flight of our songbird.  
Your notes are all I have left to cherish.  
My sight of sense has left with naught to turn,  
my hands at my sides, and you've left to fly.  
My guide's death has left me with bittersweet  
tears, with naught but this box and memory.

And I will wear, holding this memory.  
Foolish, to think I could be a songbird.  
All these regrets achingly bittersweet,  
this box and this thought all left to cherish.  
My heart pounds quickly, trapped at every turn,  
my wanderer, I simply wish to fly.

This memory of mine, here to cherish,  
This songbird in a cage, breaks free to fly,  
Though bittersweet, I move to end my turn.


	2. Running: Emi

The ground falls beneath me, leaving as I run  
through my worries, leaving tears behind;  
no longer can I wait, since metal legs propel me forward.  
Though my destination is unclear, all I can do is end  
my run, through dancing pinned on track;  
drop my things behind, and future I must look.

My hands clench at my sides, my eyes pan up to look  
at everything I've yet to gain, though quickly I must run;  
a life of memory left behind, pinned to this running track.  
If the present is so painful, then I'll leave it all behind  
to another me, who's waiting at the end;  
falling out behind, to move my legs forward.

My eyes watch straight ahead, my legs will push me forward  
to everything I've ever wanted, though I'll only chance a look;  
though the journey is inspiring, I'll always reach the end.  
I can't watch my life, all I can do is run  
to hold onto my future, as I leave my past behind;  
my breath shorts out through my life, as I run up this track.

My journey is a preset line, my life set on a track  
of choices and decisions, my momentum drives me forward;  
as everything I've yet to watch, falls off the line behind.  
I reach out to hold on, but all I can is look  
as everything I walked for, left back inside my run;  
though everything I want to see, my run must come to end.

A journey may be pleasant, but all must come to end  
inevitably, I burn out the running track;  
though our track is worn, I still deign to run.  
Our hopes and dreams litter the floor, so I keep on moving forward  
hoping beyond hope, for something to exist when I look;  
always disappointed, for everything I run for is always left behind.

When I dare to chance a glance, all of our things are left behind  
littering the floor, so quickly move to end;  
I trace our steps and stare, for all left to do is look.  
Painting the ground with black, I slowly trace our track  
in preparation to sprint, for I can always move forward;  
though time and time has demonstrated, that all I do is run.

My hopes and dreams are left behind, but I realign my track  
though I dare to reset my end, letting myself move back forward;  
now that I once more look again, I'm allowed to clock my run.


	3. Rebirth: Hanako

When we look into the fire,  
Curled in the soothing embrace of sleep,  
I watch as your breathing swells and falls,  
marking time through unceasing night,  
as we take another step through life  
even while, as two, we dream.

Alive and dead, yet both dream,  
I consider ourselves of fire.  
One's life of and the other's mistress of life,  
Though neither considered in lieu of sleep.  
The breath you take will time the night,  
Even as the sun rises and the moon falls.

As the time ticks on and as the night falls,  
our lives must eventually hide our dreams.  
With the day rising to eclipse the night,  
Our room is painted in brushes of fire,  
This light arouses you from the depth of sleep,  
And I watch as your eyes sparkle with life.

If rest is death, then what is life?  
This world of ours rhythmically rises and falls,  
From life to death and out of sleep,  
One world ends in shattered dream.  
To turn back now would see my fire,  
Ending my world in the shadow of night.

A lost celebration on a broken night,  
The collapse of what I knew of life,  
As everything I loved faded in fire  
I wonder now even as my consciousness falls,  
If what I knew was just a dream;  
And if so, all I wanted was to sleep.

If everything I knew was a phantom of sleep,  
Then my greatest wish was that of night,  
Of which I could return to dream,  
Even as I left behind my life.  
The sun rises and the moon falls,  
And everything retreats in the fading fire.

As sleep retreats and as starts my life,  
The light of the sun rises and the shadow of the night falls.  
And I smile to dream as I escape my fire.


End file.
